One day
I met a girl
bloomy and tall
she wore sunshine
in her eyes
her hair prisoners
of the wind
and when she smiled
the moon arrived
yet when she cried
her tears resembled
petals, soft and purple
I think she was
made of flowers.

"In all her goodbyes,
In all her sunsets,
the air smelled of
teas made of
love and
a pinch of freedom."

What does it take
for a man
to sit in the ocean
and not pour salt
over his wounds?

-his life.

And they would
stand with me
refusing to let
light leave the room
like how during storms
the earth holds the grass
close to its chest.
My brothers,
What is this
Mad. Mad. Love.

Goodbyes often feel like reaching the last page of the book and you don't know if you should finish it or leave it unfinished.

You see, leaving is the hardest ******* thing to do, until you leave. So, here's my step by step guide to say goodbye:

Step 1: When she reaches for your lungs to breathe the air you've been breathing, hold her hands and keep them on the bed of roses you've been holding by the thorns and tell her, fall has arrived.

Step 2: When she runs her fingers through your hair and reaches for your lips, stop her and show her the stubbed cigarette buds on your chest that have turned your body into smoke and tell her, you are tired of being held captive between her fingers and lips.

Step 3: When she rests her head on your lap and looks at you with hope, close her eyes and show her the cots that are testament to the dreams you weaved for each other and tell her, you don't want to dream again.

Step 4: When she makes your arm the pillow of her bed, show her the sunflower seeds you painted on your skin that blossom everytime they see her face and tell her, the sun doesn't shine the way it used to.

Step 5: When she takes your hand in her hands and brews tea in the same *** that you built as a testament to your love, show her the letters you wrote on your skin and tell her, they speak freedom.

Step 6: And after you do as I said, remember to kiss her forehead, bid her goodbye, and tell her, it was worth loving her.

"And she was
as beautiful as
flowers after a
rainy morning."

"Even in your most
vulnerable moments,
be your own home
be your own moon."

Bid goodbye
to the dreams
you left behind.
They are no
reason to lose sleep.

these bones that you carry
buried under deep sorrow
that a child feels upon
losing his favorite toy
the euphoria of silence
that a woman feels upon
the loss of her love
the creeping insomnia
that a painter feels upon
losing faith in his art
the music plays like fire in his ear
that a poet feels upon
the loss of words
someone holding him down by the hair
that a mother feels upon
the loss of her child
she screams there is no greater pain
these bones that you carry
you were only supposed to bury.

And she was a city
borne off massacres
stuck on the idea that
only love could heal her.

And I do not intend to
carve your name on stones
and make you my god
but I do intend to
carve it in a corner
of my heart so that
whenever blood would
rush through my veins
you are the first thing
my heart would remind me of.

"In all that
you left behind,
you only came
closer to home.
you only came
closer to yourself."

And when you leave
I want you to
put your lips onto mine
one last time.
It is the closest
I'll ever feel to love again.

Do you see
the generation today,
my generation struggling
emotionally
having jarred into their heads
that it's not okay to cry
that it's not good to cry
that it's going to be alright
if you would just stop crying
if you would just wipe the tears off
that crying is for the weak (oh my son is not weak)
that crying wouldn't help
that crying is for the enemies
my generation
was served a lie on the platter
and we gulped it down
our throats without a thought
so that if we ever choke with tears
we'd gulp the lie over and over again
but mothers and fathers
look yourselves in the eye
and tell me if shedding a few tears
didn't turn down your grief
and tell me if shedding a few tears
made you any less a man
made you any less a woman
made you any less a human
Mothers and fathers
look your children in the eye
and tell them
crying is just another emotion
that has the ability
to sit down with your heart
in moments of grief
and be the friend
it needs the most.
tell them
crying is for the strong
crying is for those who feel
crying is for everyone
tell them
crying is okay.
crying is good.

"And yet in our
most vulnerable moments
we take a dive
in the same ocean
that once drowned us."

Trauma made you
what you are.
But do not let trauma define
who you are.

you deserve love
served on a
bed of roses,
do not, I repeat,
do not
settle for the thorns.

"Do you also
dream of dreams
that bring you
closer to yourself?"

How do you forget
the first time
she smiled for you
the first time
she held your hand
the first time
she cried in your arms
the first time
you looked at each other
and froze in the moment
the first time
you knew what love was.

Can the moon
erase the sun
off its memory?

"And her eyes were
made of dreams
that don't let you
sleep at night."

"Would you look at
all these free souls
carrying their cages
wherever they go?"

People are free. their minds free. their speech free. free from slavery. free. but are they truly, free? They have built cages for themselves. They never want to come out of them. We pray to God. unquestionably. unfailingly. but why do we fail to question the real reason why we pray to God? why are we searching for him in statues and people when we know he left this place a long time ago? and if he didn't leave, why do we celebrate what he created and not question what he destroyed? why do we fight to save someone we can't see or feel against the very people he created?
Until people come out of the cages, we may never get the answer to these questions.

"Even in your most
vulnerable moments,
do what your heart wants,
go where the heart goes."

And tomorrow
when you wake up
do not be afraid
to embrace the
empty side of your bed
and tell your heart
there are greater wars
to be won.

Grief doesn't have an expiry date.
So if it hits you in the guts
everytime you hear her name,
grieve and feel every emotion
it evokes in you.
You have every right to
not disregard it.

Her body.
the only wonder
of the world
I wanted to visit.
the smudged mascara,
the rosy moist lips,
the sheets on the floor,
the only mess
I ever wanted to create.
Oh, my heart!

"And she would run her
gentle, icy fingers
through my hair
like frosty wind
would caress me
on cold winter mornings."

Her lips.
Rose petals
dipped in honey.

"And her lips
were made of cigarettes
that touched mine
and turned us into smoke."

"And her hair
were like the ocean
that fell onto me
like strong wind tides
and turned me into salt."

rub sunshine in your heart
bathe your soul in the ocean
sing songs for your bones
feed the moon to your eyes

That's how flowers bloom.

Do you
DO YOU
also look at
the petals of flowers
fall one by one
and think
that's how
love leaves?

And if
we ever fall out,
remind me
to light candles
in the sky.
Because,
You're talking about
darkness.
Vast. Horrifying. Darkness.

"And when you're gone,
I'll remember you
in my prayers
I'll remember you
in my songs."

In your eyes
I do not look for love
I search for peace
A peace that makes you, you.

- in quest of peace

You,
the wave of a
calm ocean.
I,
the ground beneath
the surface.
Oh how you pull
the sand apart
in search of me.

Everyday,
moment by moment,
I grow strong
in your love.
It is a reminder that
once
I was weak.

One day
I met a man
tall, lanky, and grey.
He would smile
if someone looked at him,
his hands moving
in every direction
when he would talk,
his legs shivering
from the weight
of his shoulders.
He would fidget
with his clothes
trying to perfect them,
scratching his beard
picking it apart
hair by hair,
sweating his heart out
sitting in an
air-conditioned room,
but his eyes,
his eyes had something.
As if,
they were tired
from the all grief
he had been carrying
not shedding any
part of it
as if a mannequin
came to life,
As if,
his eyes were tired
of the weight of
the tears he had been
carrying all this time.
He learned all his life,
how to be a good man,
how to be a good son
how to be a good friend,
but one thing he couldn't learn,
how to face his grief.
One thing he couldn't learn
is how to be more human.
Because it's only human
to grieve, cry, and then
be able to feel other things.
It's only human
to be human.

Once
I used to stay
on the second floor
of a worn out building
which had only half a window
and a small view of the
nearby quiet street
which had one tea stall
where worked Raju,
the boy in striped pajamas.
There wasn't a day
when he wouldn't smile
or sing his favorite
Kishore Kumar songs.
There wasn't a day
when he wouldn't get
beaten up by the owner of the shop
for breaking a glass or two
when he would bring back
the empty ones spellbound
by the tunes of Lalita aunty,
the 70 year old classical singer
living on the ground floor.
There wasn't a day
when he slept on a nice warm bed
instead of the footpath
adjoining the shop.
I would always wonder
about the secret of his happiness
and everytime I would ask him
he would laugh and tell me,
some other time.
Time passed and
I moved to another city
trying to find my peace
between changing jobs
and finding love
and all this time
I would wonder
what made Raju so happy
so one day I went back there,
handing Raju a 10 Rs. Note
and told him,
today I'm not here for the tea,
I am here for the secret.
Before Raju could say
some other time
I told him
not this time.
Raju smiled, sat beside me, and
said - "I am content with what I have. My mother loves me. I am helping my sister study to become a doctor. There's not been a day that I didn't have food to eat. I have all I need - family and love. I am sure you'll find your peace one day."
After that day,
I stopped searching for peace
in all the places it wasn't there
because it was always inside me.
I was my peace.

And there is
no point in
swimming in a water
that's too deep for you.

Let her go.

Whatever may happen,
Let love find you.
Let love take you home.

And let me
lead you to the sunset
and melt
into your arms.
I always wanted to
sleep holding
the moon by my side.

Do not romanticize
loneliness
to a point
that you become
a part of it.

Every once in a while
I feel the need
to embrace silence
not to rid myself of the world
but to remind myself
I exist.

- Sometimes, the noise makes me feel lost.

And if it weren't for love
there'd be no magic
there'd be no home.

And today,
I want you to run wild.
Your love
was never meant
for the cages.

This morning
I woke up
and thought
all my poetries
were over
but then I saw her
smiling in her sleep
and there it was,
love, yet again.

What if
I promise
to find you
in each dimension
and love you the same,
would you still tell me
I'm not enough?

Bruised.
Beaten.
Thrashed.
Yet,
you remained soft.
I think you
are made of water.

Every morning
I wake up to
my songs entangled
in her hair
and she flicks them
like how strong waves
fall into the ocean.
M U S I C to my ears.

Imagine:

An old dusky room on the outskirts of the city. The view from the broken window is a small garden, a puppy, and a kitten. Inside, I am sitting on my study table with an half empty bottle of old ***. There is a noise of typewriter in the air and a smell of books. You pour a hot cup of tea in the saucer and move your hand towards me. I look into your eyes as I take a sip from the saucer. Hands meet hands, eyes meet eyes, lips meet lips. Do you not dream of creating a poetry such as this?